Chapter 18
Torin
Two Months Ago
“No, there has to be another way into the city. No place is built with only one exit point. That would be suicidal!”
“Folami insisted that there was only that one way. It was the only entry and exit point she used while in the army.”
“Yes, and my information is most likely skewed by time and experience.”
The voices of my commanders fought for dominance as they echoed through the dining room that we’d commandeered in Lishahl Manor.
Through very little coaxing on our part, Lord d’Leocopus transformed his estate into a makeshift rebel camp, complete with tents for any soldier who didn’t fit inside the manor.
This room was originally Lord d’Leocopus’ private dining space, but after his insistence, we’d transformed it into our battle and strategy center.
Maps of Elyria and Vespera hung on the walls alongside any information we had regarding their Mage Academy, Mage numbers and designations, and troop movements.
Admittedly, the information was sparse at best. We still had no one on the inside—no one to ferry information about the Warlord and his closest friend, his general and second-in-command, Rohak d’Alvey.
Which meant we had less than zero information about the Academy, what they were training for, how they were training, and what they were predicting to happen.
Moreover, the lack of intel we had on the city itself was alarming.
In no short words, we were fucked.
I ran a hand down my face, closing my eyes briefly, as my closest friends and advisors fought amongst themselves.
It’d been days since I’d shaved, the scruff along my jaw now closely resembling a beard.
Sighing, I stretched as I walked away from the table, the voices of my advisors dying at my exit.
“Torin?” Peytor questioned, surprise and concern lacing his tone.
He’d put on weight since we’d rescued him, his skin and hair returning to their normal hue and length.
Externally, he’d all but recovered from the months of torture and torment in the mines.
Internally, I knew he was still fighting his own demons.
There were moments where his vision would cloud, his eyes darkening with some unseen memory, just like they did now.
It seemed to happen most often when I walked away or appeared angry.
It was like he took my anger and frustration personally. Almost like he was afraid I’d leave him if he didn’t prove himself useful.
I’d never do that—even if he wasn’t Peytor d’Aelius, the last heir to the seat in Hestin and a close personal friend. I knew what it felt like to be abandoned, and I would never consciously do that to another person.
“Torin,” my second-in-command, Folami, barked, and I turned to gaze at the three of them huddled over the dining table. I ran my hands through my hair, blowing out a breath.
“We need someone on the inside,” I said for what felt like the thousandth time this week. By the groans of exasperation and Folami’s eye roll, they thought the same.
“Yes. We do,” Folami continued. “We’ve all agreed that we need someone on the inside. What we can’t agree on is how we get that to happen.”
“I’m sorry I’m not more useful,” Peytor apologized, again.
“We never visited Vespera as a family. And the only information I have about the Academy is from when I attended there for a year. Information that I’m sure is outdated.
Plus, I never really paid much attention to the layout or weak points of the Academy while I was there.
” He ruffled the back of his hair in embarrassment, and I waved a hand in his direction.
“Why would you have?” I countered. “You only knew of the Warlord’s deception and depravity recently. I do not fault you for planning for something you couldn’t even fathom.”
Peytor’s cheeks pinked before he grabbed the back of his neck—a nervous tick he’d displayed more often recently.
“No one blames you, Peytor. What you’ve given us has been invaluable,” Folami reaffirmed, her deep, lilting voice instantly relaxing the d’Aelius heir.
He shot her a small smile, one which she returned warmly, before turning her chocolate eyes on me.
Where she held warmth and understanding for Peytor, they only contained hardness and expectations for me.
We’d been friends for nearly a decade now.
She fled to the Stepstones and the rebellion after a rather harrowing time in the Warlord’s army.
Folami didn’t speak of it much, but the ghosts of her service still haunted her, as did the scars around her wrists and the mottled skin that once contained a Bonding mark.
I’d tried pressing her for information over the years, but she expertly avoided the subject. When we started putting information together about Vespera and the Warlord, Folami gave us bits and pieces that she remembered, but refused to go into greater detail.
Part of me wondered if she’d blocked out that portion of her memory—the suffering too great to experience again.
“Torin!” Folami exclaimed in exasperation, and I jumped slightly. Of the two of us, she definitely had the more commanding voice.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” I mumbled, and Peytor barely suppressed a laugh. “I . . . have an idea.”
It wasn’t a fully formed plan, but it was all we had at the moment.
Better than nothing.
“Care to enlighten us?” Folami crossed her corded forearms across her chest, widening her stance as she did so.
She was an intimidating woman—her ebony skin was covered in scars from her past, and her braided black hair hung to her waist. She’d woven small golden charms into her braids so they clinked softly whenever she moved; it was such a disarming sound when paired with her skill with a spear.
Folami was nothing short of deadly. Even I would be skeptical to go up against her, and I had command over four elements and needed neither crystal nor Vessel to access my powers.
Like Ellowyn.
“I could enroll at the Academy,” I stated bluntly. At first, my three closest advisors simply looked at me with owlish gazes, eyes wide and unblinking before they all spoke at once.
“Absolutely not.”
“He’ll find you immediately!”
“It’s too dangerous! Let someone else do it.”
I held up my hand, and they instantly fell silent. Folami might be able to command with her voice, but my actions always spoke loudest. Which was the reason the Matriarch put me in charge of all of her armies with Folami as my second. I thought I’d live and die in service to the Matriarch.
Until I discovered the truth . . .
I mentally shook my head, clearing the thought for later. The Matriarch’s deception was not the important piece at the moment.
“There is no one else who could do this job,” I stated, and when Folami began to open her mouth, I cut her off with a hardened glare.
“Who would go? You? You cannot even speak of your history with that place, let alone think about returning there for an extended period of time. Not to mention, you cut your Bonding mark from your body. You don’t think that would be noticed immediately? So, no, you cannot go in my stead.”
Folami closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth, fire brimming in her eyes.
She was passionate and loyal to a fault, but she had a vendetta against the Warlord—maybe even as great as the Matriarch’s.
While I trusted her and loved her as a friend and commander, this was not a mission I felt comfortable giving to her.
“Peytor is also a non-choice,” I stated, turning my eyes to my friend, whose shoulders sagged under the weight of my gaze. “He’s much too recognizable and just returned from a stint in the mines. He’d be killed on sight.”
My eyes turned last to the third man in the room—General Razia d’Chisisi.
He was a short, stocky man with a hard-edged expression only made more intense by the scar that slashed across his face.
Apparently he’d served in the southern army during the last Elyrian civil war but defected when Lord d’Leocopus offered him a position in Lishahl.
To say Folami, Peytor, and I didn’t trust him was an understatement, and none of us truly wanted him here. But when we first tried to deny his entry into our war room, Lord d’Leocopus made it very clear that General d’Chisisi would join us, or we would have to find a new home for the rebellion.
“Theoretically, you could go in my place”—Razia raised his eyebrows expectantly—“but I frankly don’t trust you.” General d’Chisisi glowered. I knew my blunt accusation would make its way back to Lord d’Leocopus, but I found I didn’t care.
Ellowyn’s safety was paramount, and I didn’t trust Lord d’Leocopus’ man to retrieve her.
“So send someone else. You have thousands of men and women willing to do whatever necessary to see Vespera and the Warlord brought to their knees,” Folami hissed as she gestured, her braids clinking together with the rapid movement.
“I don’t trust anyone else. Not with this. Not with her.”
The room was silent as I finished speaking.
Folami sighed deeply, dropping her hand to her side.
“We cannot sway you, can we.” Peytor’s question was more a statement, and his tone was completely resigned. He quirked a small smile as I shook my head.
“No. This is the way it must be done. I am sure of it.” The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became of my plan.
It has to work.
“How do you plan on communicating with us? Any letters in and out of the Academy are closely monitored. Even with one of our ciphers, the likelihood that our plans are intercepted is high,” Razia added.
I hummed for a moment.
“What I am going to tell you does not leave this room,” I stated gravely.
I suppose this will truly test Razia’s loyalty.
I traced the calluses on my palms, deciding how best to approach my ability to commune with Ellowyn.
I’d had various theories for a while now, why we were the only two—plus Fate—who were able to access the Dreamscape, but nothing concrete or provable.
Maybe by confessing, one of them would have a better idea.
Or I’m damning myself.
“I can dream walk,” I stated, and my words hung heavy in the still air. My eyes left my hands as I stopped their mindless picking, only to be drawn in by the surprised and somewhat confused looks on each of their faces.
“I’m going to need you to say that again,” Folami drawled slowly, her unblinking eyes a complete contrast to Razia’s, whose lashes kept fluttering like he was trying to dislodge a stuck particle.
“I can dream walk,” I repeated again, a bit more of my usual confidence lacing my tone.
“Right. And why is that?” Razia asked, skepticism apparent in both his words and body language.
There’s the doubt.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I have . . . theories, but nothing concrete.” And nothing I will willingly discuss with you in the room, I added silently.
“Care to share those theories?” he probed, and I tensed, my expression closing off immediately until I wore the mask of Cael, the Matriarch’s feared and formidable general.
“No,” I barked, and Razia, thankfully, backed down even as fire shone in his eyes.
I could easily overpower him with my magic, especially with Folami at my side, but I didn’t want to resort to violence.
Harsh truths may be permissible in Lord d’Leocopus’ court, but openly attacking his general would not be.
“But it is something we could use. If I could teach someone else to do it,” I added.
“Who do you dream walk to?” Folami asked carefully.
I gulped, my throat constricting as my eyes flew to Peytor quickly then back to Folami’s steadfast gaze.
“Ellowyn,” I nearly whispered, and heard Peytor suck in an audible breath.
“The Warlord’s whore?” Razia immediately spat, and I felt the temperature of the room drop a full ten degrees at his clear hatred.
His outburst caused power to leak from my fingers as my anger froze the ground beneath my feet, icy tendrils reaching to where he stood.
Peytor’s gaze turned murderous as he spun to face Razia, and even Folami appeared disgusted by his comment.
“What. Did. You. Call her?” I gritted through my teeth as I took a menacing step toward Razia. He stuck his chin out in bravery or stupidity, I wasn’t sure, but he stood his ground, desperately trying to conceal the slight shake of his knees.
Good. He should be afraid.
“The Warlord’s whore,” he hissed. No sooner were the words dying on his tongue than I had his feet encased in a block of ice, frozen to the floor. He gasped slightly as the cold bit through the thick leather of his boots and the bottoms of his pants as the chill slowly crept up his legs.
“That was a rhetorical question. I heard you loud enough the first time.” My voice was deceptively calm, barely restrained anger and violence simmering beneath the surface.
I turned from him, not trusting myself to look at his repugnant face any longer.
“You can report this back to Lord d’Leocopus. But please also inform him that I will no longer tolerate your presence in my war room after your disgusting comments about my future wife and Peytor’s sister.” I released his feet with a wave of my hand. “Go. Now,” I commanded.
Razia’s feet shuffled across the floor before they paused. “General d’Eshu, I really must insist—”
“I said, GO,” I roared, Fire licking up my arms with my anger.
At my display of magic, Razia fled the room, the door slamming behind him.
I closed my eyes, desperately calming my racing heart as I fought for control over my magic.
“Why don’t we ask the Bondsmith?” Peytor asked quietly, and I tilted my head back and forth in thought. “She’s a goddess—or a half-goddess? There’s probably some way for her to help, right?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” I agreed, logic finally returning once more.
“Why don’t you go speak with her, Torin. Folami and I will try and . . . smooth any edges that came from your treatment of Razia,” Peytor said, and I hummed quietly, finally opening my eyes.
Folami and Peytor looked simultaneously amused and annoyed.
“Just try not to set the Bondsmith on fire if she gives you an answer you don’t like, okay?” Peytor teased, and I rolled my eyes as I clapped him on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said, and he smiled in return before nodding at the door.
“Go. Figure out how you can communicate with one of us. And if she asks for a volunteer for a rune tattoo . . .” He gestured at himself, and Folami chuckled.
“Yes. It’ll have to be you. There’s no way anyone is ever tattooing me again,” she scoffed, and I smiled grimly at her.
“Thank you, both of you. Hopefully I’ll return with answers.”